


Rainy Memories and Feathered Paintbrushes

by HeaviDirtiSole



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Color Aesthetic, Josh can be an ass, Josh is really forgetful, Josh is unpredictable and weird, M/M, Painter!Josh, Tyler can be an ass, Tyler is also kind of a bitch sometimes, Tyler is manipulative, Tyler is observant, Tyler thinks he's better than most, Winged Siren!Tyler, cute gay stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeaviDirtiSole/pseuds/HeaviDirtiSole
Summary: Josh is a slightly starving artist with a bad memory and inconsistent temper. Tyler has obnoxiously big wings and is a bit manipulative.





	1. Yellow Umbrella

 

The wind is ripping at Tyler’s face, the rain feels like glass shards cutting into him. He shivers, he’s  _ so  _ cold. 

He grabs his bag, gets up to go huddle in a corner under the pier. He hears a creak in the legs of the pier, it tilts a bit. The pier begins to wobble, and the legs are bending inward. 

Tyler runs out, tripping on cold, wet sand a few feet away from the pier as it topples over. He shakes from the fear —or the cold—he doesn’t really know. He gets up, spits the sand from his mouth and walks toward the city. 

_ Well, shit _ , he thinks, as he approaches the streets.  _ There’s no one out here _ . However, he’s not sure if he wants people to be out or if he doesn’t. If they’re out, he might get some help. If they’re not, he won’t have to deal with people—and  _ questions _ . 

He surges forward, wind blowing harsh against his exposed skin. He hears his wet tennis shoes slap against the concrete, his breath sharp and humid. He finds a bus stop and sits on the bench. Luckily there’s a cover over it. 

“Damnit!” Josh shouts for the ump-teenth time in thirty minutes as his yellow umbrella goes inside out again. He fixes it, and rushes toward his house. He should've drove to the store. But all he got was a carton of milk, a tube of French Blue paint, and some snacks so he figured he didn't need to.

His phone vibrates in his pocket—a reminder to water his venus fly trap—because it's so infrequently needed he forgets. He’s been forgetting for a whole week at this point. 

_ Fuck _ , he had completely forgotten about his phone—at least he knows his phone can still receive reminders. He rushes toward the bus stop to make sure most of it still works. Instead he’s greeted with the face of a  _ drenched  _ stranger. The boy gives a small wave, tilts his head.

“Hey.” he says softly, it’s oddly captivating and Josh finds himself moving into the bus stop. The boy smells like pine trees, even though he's soaked in rainwater. 

“What happened to you?” Josh asks, it comes out harsher than expected. The boy shrugs, adjusts his arms to put them against his sides. 

“Uhm, well. Storm destroyed my hou-the pier. I live at the pier.”

Josh is taken aback, because he has never seen this boy before. Tyler looks down and smirks, lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh. 

“Listen, you're coming home with me, I'm interested now. I also feel bad.” Josh says and hesitantly grabs the other’s hand, pulling him along. 

Tyler takes note that Josh’s hands are stained on the knuckles. 

Red, pink, magenta, wine, burgundy. 

“So umbrella boy, you aren't like, a murderer are you?” 

Josh smiles and shrugs, “I don't know. Prolly not.” 

The wet boy laughs nervously.

When they get to Josh’s house, Josh throws the door open and strips off his jacket, shirt, shoes, and socks. 

“My pants are soaked too but you'll have to work for that one.” he laughs too hard and too enthusiastically and the other boy stands still. 

“I'll be right back, just stay on the placemat.”

So he stays on the placemat. 

And Josh goes to his room and smacks his head against his door six times. 

He walks to the kitchen and places the groceries on the counter, then walks down to the hall closet. 

When Josh comes back he throws a couple towels at the sopping wet boy, drying his own bright yellow locks. 

“So, my name is Josh,” he pauses and waits for a response. 

“What’s your name dude?” Josh asks as his hair flings water around the room. 

“I'm, uh. My name’s Tyler.” 

Something about the way he says it makes Josh melt like ice in a hot pan. 

Tyler notes Josh’s change of pants. 

These gray sweats are covered in drops and lines of yellow and green. There's a giant blob of pink smeared all the way down from his crotch.

His thought stops there and Josh notices the red spreading across Tyler’s face. He cocks his head expectantly but receives no further information. 

“You like sweatpants or something?”

Tyler ignores the question.

 


	2. Wet Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward things ensue.

Tyler shuffles and keeps his back toward the wall as he walks over to put his shoes on a holder. 

“Why are you walking like that?” Josh asks, because he has only now noticed that he hasn't seen Tyler’s back at all. 

Tyler pulls the face of a guilty dog, and suddenly giant, fluffy, warm gray wings spread out behind him, smacking against the wall. 

“Holy shit.” Josh says under his breath, because he's not sure if it's impolite to be completely infatuated.

Tyler shakes the water from his wings, flinging it around the room and his feathers fluff out. He flutters his wings a couple times and groans in satisfaction.

“This is so much better than having them all folded up. They started cramping like twenty minutes ago.”

“Do you mind if I ask why the fuck you have wings?” Josh says, jaw slack. “I mean, I dunno I’m kinda tired. Can I get a shower? I feel so gross and cold.” Tyler says and takes off his still sopping shirt. He stretches, arching his back deeply and smiling at Josh lopsidedly. 

Josh’s eyes steal a look down Tyler’s torso. His stomach is decently defined. 

“I thought you lived under a pier. Yet you have muscles. Got a gym membership but no house?” Josh slips out and mentally slaps himself.  _ Just had to be the funny guy, huh?  _

Tyler chuckles, but glares at Josh crudely. “Nah. I just kinda, have them. I don’t know man. Anyways, shower?”

“Right! Follow me,” Josh says as he walks down the hall, Tyler carrying the towels in his arms. 

There are paintings on almost every inch of the hall, and they’re quite good. One features a rustic treehouse, a snapped rope hanging out of a window. The sun streaming beams down through the thick trees. A figure is sat on the balcony, peering down at the unseen floor with a red hat tilted over his face. 

Josh stops and points at it, tilting his head and resting a hand on his hip. He smiles, but it turns flat. “That one is based on a dream I had a while ago, I think.”

Tyler hums and they continue down the hall. 

Another has a autumn forest, a cool gray pond, a small dock and a fisherman in a boat. His hat is tilted over his face as well. Frogs lurk at the edges of the pond under the looming cattails. 

Tyler stops. “Why do all your painting people have hats over their faces?” 

“I can’t draw faces.” 

“Right.” 

“Alright so the shower is there, there might be some paint stains in it. But no harm, right?” he chuckles softly, rubs his palm over his forehead.

“The stains make sense now.” Tyler quips and Josh scrunches his face. “What?” he says as he brings his hand down and turns it over. “Oh,” he sighs. “I always forget. I use my knuckles when my palette doesn't have enough room.”

Tyler laughs and saunters into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

Josh lingers awkwardly, shifting his weight foot to foot. He chews on his lip and walks to his studio further down the hall. He steps inside, the floor covered in a tarp. The tarp is violently stained with dull and bright hues. 

He sighs, looking toward a painting of a doberman slobbering down a chain—it’ll never get finished. He’s thinking about throwing it out but the thought is interrupted by a quiet chanting from down the hall. 

It sounds like a song Josh has heard before, but he can’t remember the name. He finds himself walking down the hall, ear against the door listening to Tyler sing. 

Suddenly the door swings open and before Josh has time to react, he stumbles forward and falls onto the floor. 

Tyler looms over him, spreading his wings as best he can without breaking anything. “I was gonna ask for some clothes, but it seems you’re eager to see me without them.” he giggles and side steps Josh, sparing him a glance at his crotch. Josh sits up, apologizing. 

“Sorry. You have a nice voice. I can get you some clothes.”

Josh gets up quickly, speed walking to his room and calling for Tyler. 

“Can I have some pants? That’d be pretty cool.”

So Josh hands him over some pajamas, his  _ softest  _ pants. 

Tyler smiles and shoos Josh out.

Once Tyler feels snug, he joins Josh in the living room.

“Shit. I’ll be right back,” Josh says hurriedly and hikes his thumb toward the hall. “I forgot about the milk.” 

When Josh comes back, he plops onto the couch. He turns on the T.V., Tyler cuddles up under a blanket, curling his wings over himself. “Having something soft to sit on is so, so nice.” 

Josh chuckles as he skims through shows. “What do you usually sleep on?” Josh asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. “The ground.” 

There’s only silence for awhile after that. 

“Y’know Tyler, maybe I’ll let you stay with me for awhile. Perhaps we could be good friends. I’m a lonely painter boy!” he frowns, but it’s still so smiley. He looks like a toddler pouting over candy. Tyler smiles brightly. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

 


	3. French Blue Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler is pissy and Josh is forgetful.

 

Josh finally finds something to watch, something about conspiracies and the sort. Tyler doesn’t remember what it was called and honestly—neither does Josh. 

Tyler quickly falls asleep, his wings fluttering while he snores quietly. Josh smiles, observing the LED light bouncing on and highlighting Tyler’s facial structure. He’s so pretty. Too pretty, honestly. 

Three hours later Josh falls asleep staring at Tyler, and the T.V. continues blubbering about aliens to an otherwise silent room. 

When Tyler wakes up, his feet are at one end of the couch, his left leg up on the top. His head is resting on the armrest, and one wing is covering his torso, the other laying across the floor. He groans quietly, shifting from the all but comfortable position. 

Josh isn't in the room, Tyler figures he probably went to his room last night. Then he hears Josh shout and the call of a pan wobbling and rolling on the floor. He also listens to his stomach growl, and stands up slowly. 

He lumbers into the kitchen, watching Josh whip eggs and waiting for him to notice that he was there. When Josh does, he turns with the bowl of eggs and jumps. Tyler had startled him and Josh had spilled eggs on himself. 

“Damn, sorry.” Tyler says weakly. “It’s whatever. Happens all the time, I think so at least. My shirts have a lot of yellow stains. All us painters lose our minds eventually anyways, mainly because our minds are so filled with shit.” he smiles at Tyler, dark bags under his eyes. 

Perhaps Tyler hadn't noticed them before, because it was dark. Or maybe they appeared after last night. He’s tempted to ask, but he doesn't want to seem too observative—or obsessive. 

Josh pours the eggs into the pan, whistles and scans his eyes around the kitchen. Tyler, the sink, the table, the empty fruit bowl, the dead venus fly trap.

“Damnit. Damnit. Man, fuck.” he says, sounding disheartened. “What is it?” Tyler asks anxiously. Josh points a solemn finger toward the plant’s corpse, sighing. Tyler nods, drags his index down his face in place of a tear. He frowns hugely, then smiles a bit. 

“This is supposed to be sad and you're acting like it's a joke.” 

“It is.”

Josh frowns, points a crude finger at Tyler and jabs him in the chest. “We’re having a funeral. Don’t let me forget that.” Tyler rolls his eyes and nods. 

Josh rubs at the rings around his eyes, squinting at Tyler. He looks down to the pan, grabs metal spatula and looks at his reflection. He stares at it, looking at Tyler behind him in the door frame—then at himself.

It looks like he’s been punched in both eyes.  _ How’d I let them get this bad?  _ He asks himself, sighing and rubbing his hand down his face. 

He tends to the eggs, and Tyler chews on his lip from the door. He walks over to Josh, leaning over and looking into the pan. He places his hands on the oven’s handles, his wrists and forearms against the vents just above it. His wrists heat up, singeing a tad. He withdraws them and shouts, fast walking to the sink and running cold, cold water. 

Josh turns his head toward Tyler, ignoring the eggs and walking behind the wailing boy. He wraps his pale, red-stained hands around Tyler’s elbows, shushing him quietly.

“Did you really just do that?” Josh asks and holds back a laugh. Tyler squirms out of his grip, ripping his arms away. “Don’t touch me.” he hisses, backing away from Josh. Josh’s shoulders hunch and he holds his hands up. “Damn, sorry.”

Tyler glares daggers, turning back toward the sink, He groans and stomps his foot in pain as the water sizzles against his skin. 

The eggs are well forgotten, burning in the pan slowly. Josh smells the smoke and whips his head around, grimacing. He smacks his forehead and rushes over, turning the stove off. He scrapes the pan off with the spatula. It’s his good pan—he’s not fond of the idea of ruining it. He walks to the bin, tossing the eggs in. 

“Can I have some milk?” Tyler whispers, folding his wings close against his back. He doesn’t bother to apologize for his outburst, and he’s not going to. 

Josh’s head perks and he ravages his mind. He knows he’s out of milk. He’s been out for like, two weeks. He looks to the counter, seeing a tube of French Blue paint. He’s confused, because he’s wondering why he would bring that to the kitchen. He’s also wondering why it looks new. He hasn’t bought French Blue since he originally got it, and it’s not empty. He’s  _ sure  _ of it. 

Lost in thought, he doesn’t see Tyler snap his fingers in Josh’s face, or Tyler go to the fridge, or Tyler pour a glass of milk. 

“I don’t have milk.” Josh says as he snaps out of his blue colored daze. “You bought milk yesterday.” Tyler says, completely monotone. He’s pissed for some reason, and Josh doesn’t know why and he doesn’t think he will know. 

“I’ll be right back.” he says, grabbing the tube and jogging down the hall to his studio. He looks to the chalkboard of ideas and reminders, seeing ‘GET MORE PARIS BLUE.’ He laughs at his stupidity, because he was  _ so  _ close. He walks to his drawer of paint tubes, and sure enough Paris Blue is marked with a black dot on the cap. This is what he does when he runs out of a color. 

He throws the tube against the tarped ground, it bounces up and hits his hand as he walks out and slams the door. “My brain is such shit.” he mumbles as he walks back to the kitchen.


	4. Palette Knives and False Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler you giggly bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pay attention to the pissbaby

 

In the kitchen, Tyler is sitting on the table, bouncing his legs and drinking milk. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Tyler asks out of the blue, staring into his milk. 

Josh hums, hopping on the counter. He taps his chin and smiles. “I like cats a lot, they’re like, self sufficient kinda.” 

Tyler nods. “Why don’t you get a cat then?” Josh stares at nothing, sighing. “I’d probably forget to feed it. I’ve owned three fish in the last two months and I forgot to feed them. They all died. I gave up.” 

Tyler pauses and looks at Josh. His eyes look dead. “Okay well, uhm. My favorite are birds. ‘Cause they can fly. And they’re cute, and have nice voices.” Josh squints at Tyler. “You have wings too. And you can sing. I don’t understand.” He leaves out the cute part. 

And maybe that pisses Tyler off a bit, maybe it pisses him off a lot. 

Tyler drinks the rest of his milk and walks up behind Josh, pushing him a bit. It makes the injuries newly singed on his wrists burn. 

When Josh doesn’t react, Tyler pushes him again. 

“Fucking stop.” Josh says and goes to his studio, ignoring Tyler’s obscene wailing from behind him. 

Josh lays on his back on the ground, throwing the empty tube of Paris Blue up in the air and catching it. He progressively gets more frustrated because he’s so  _ confused _ .

Why is Tyler so pissy?

The more frustrated he gets, the harder he throws the tube, and eventually he gets so worked up he starts sweating bullets. He throws his t-shirt toward the door and it lands on and hangs off the knob. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Josh hops up and runs toward it to lock it. He smiles, because he feels like a kid again. Tyler knocks again, and when he doesn’t get a response, he gives up and slides down the door. Some feathers bend back and up, fucking them up beyond belief. Tyler hisses, bringing his wings forward to pluck the newly ruined feathers. 

Josh returns to his spot on the floor. He throws Paris Blue as hard as he can against the door. He stretches his brightly tattooed arm around the floor, searching for another tube of paint. When he finds one—it’s Marigold—fallen off of the canvas of a sketch of someone with a lemon umbrella and gray streaks around them. 

He tosses it, catching it each time—until he doesn’t—and it smacks down on the floor. 

He flings forward and sits up, covering his face. 

Tyler jumps a bit outside the room, and his stomach growls.

“Josh,” he says, hoping for some sign that Josh is still alive. He gets nothing, but continues. “We didn’t eat and I’m hungry as hell.”

Josh is still silent.

“If you don’t feed me, I’ll leave.”

Silence.

“I’ll suck your dick if you give me food.”

Josh laughs deeply from inside the room.

Tyler giggles from outside the room.

“How about I let you fuck my face?” he sings and laughs throughout. 

Josh sits up, rubs a hand down his face. “I’ll feed you if you shut the hell up.” 

Tyler is suddenly, magically silent. Josh closes his eyes in pure bliss.

“Listen,” Josh says as he gets up and walks toward the door.

Josh looks to his shirt on the door handle, deliberating. 

He puts it on and rests his forehead against the cold wood.

“I'm not in the mood for your shit, so just be quiet. Like, tape your mouth and breathe

through your nose. I swear to god, you say one more smart thing and I'm kicking you out.”

“You sound like a suburban mum.” 

“Get your ass over here so I can kick it out my window.”

Tyler yelps and runs down the hall as the studio door slams behind him. 

Josh meets Tyler back in the kitchen, where he's sat on the counter, kicking his legs in

circles. “My wrists still hurt.” Tyler says and holds out his arms to show Josh. They’re red in zebra-esque stripes.

Josh stumbles a bit, shoving Tyler’s wrists away. “You promised me head,” he says and laughs. “But I guess we can take care of that too.” 

Tyler blushes and laughs, rolling his eyes. “I was kidding.” 

“I mean, okay. But you should know that offerings and jokes are considered different things.”

Josh grabs Tyler’s upper arm, avoiding touching the marks the oven left. He drags him to the bathroom and has him sit on the edge of the tub. Tyler watches Josh fumble through his cabinet, and he grabs a tube of Neosporin and some bandages. At least a third is used up of each. Tyler raises his brows as Josh walks closer. 

“Palette knives are sharper than they look.” 

Tyler is staring up at Josh, still suspicious. “I’ll show you if you want. Later I mean. After we eat and you suck my dick.” 

Josh pauses and holds up his index. “Hands. Better wash those.” 

So he does, then he turns to Tyler, who’s sitting there poking at the wounds like a little kid.

Josh smiles and laughs, sitting in front of Tyler on his knees. “So,” Josh says and opens Neosporin. “What do you want to eat? Since obviously I can’t even cook eggs.” 

Tyler pauses in thought. He looks up at the ceiling, because if he looks at Josh on his knees in front of him he might scream. 

Josh spreads the cold medicine over Tyler’s burnt skin. It stings—too cold against the heat of the burns—and he tears his arm away from Josh. Josh holds his hands up in false surrender, and Tyler is still looking above him. Josh glares at Tyler from below him. “A warning would be nice. Just tell me if it hurts.” 

Tyler nods and apologizes quietly. He returns his arm to Josh’s hands. “I’m thinking cereal. You’ve cereal, yeah?” Josh shrugs. “Prolly.”

Josh covers the burns with the Neosporin, checking Tyler for flinching. Tyler doesn’t though, so he wraps the arm in bandages. He repeats the process, minimal flinching, and minimal dropped-and-unraveled bandages.

“So cereal, huh?” Josh asks as he stands, washing his hands of medicine and putting the items away. Tyler stands up and rubs the freshly treated wounds. 

“Yeah. Cereal. I’ve no preference, I’m just hungry.” Tyler says as he follows Josh out of the bathroom to the kitchen. 

“Well,” Josh pauses as he opens his cabinets. “Today’s your lucky day. I’ve got off brand peanut butter and chocolate cereal because it’s cheaper!” 

Tyler laughs, bursts into a fit of giggles entirely. He giggles when Josh spills milk  _ and  _ cereal. He giggles when Josh drops his spoon. He giggles while they eat. He giggles when Josh drinks the milk from the bowl.

Josh doesn’t laugh though, he’s fixated on hearing Tyler laugh. So Tyler laughs again, just for extra measure. 

When they’re both done, Josh smirks at Tyler. 

“So you wanna do the blow job first or go see just how sharp the palette knives are?”

Tyler laughs and smacks Josh’s arm as he walks past. He also smacks Josh across the face with his wings. “It’s called a joke. You’re taking it too far. It almost seems like you’re insisting,” Tyler starts and pauses so that Josh can catch up and deny the accusations. 

“Shut up. I’m gonna stab you with the palette knife.” 


	5. not a chapter butttt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry im a sad kid

i'm working on the nexxxt chapter it will prolly be out next week im sorry i suCK

lol i fuckin lied

**Author's Note:**

> might be cool idk


End file.
